
PROFESSOR €ALDWEIX'S ABDRESS. 



ADDRESS 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE 



TRUSTEES AND STUDENTS, 



ANNUAL COMMENCEMENT 



DICKINSON COLLEGE, 



CARLISLE, PENNSYLVANIA, 



JULY 16, 1835. 



By MERRITT CALDWELL, A. M. 

PROFESSOR OF THE EXACT SCIENCES. 



Published by Resolution of the Board of Trustees. 



HALLO WELL : 

GLAZIER, MASTERS & SMITH. 

1835. 



** *fri > i *~v» 



UB4-1 



^■5 



\\J 



In Exchange 

Peab&dy Inst, of Balto. 

June 16 1927 









ADDRESS. f~~ 



The cause of education, for its prosperity, depends on the 
interest taken in it by its friends ; and when it is thought how 
much all are indebted to it, it might at first seem strange, that 
it should ever want the encouragement which it is in their pow- 
er to give. But when we look out upon the jarring interests 
of community, — the noise and strife which pervade the busi- 
ness world ; — when we see the rush there is to improvement, 
to discovery, to invention, to everything indeed that can inter- 
est the feelings, promote pecuniary advantage, or add to the 
pleasures of sense, we find a satisfactory solution of the fact. 
Indeed we see even the devotees of learning in danger of being 
turned aside by these counter influences ; and any of those who 
are called to mingle in these commotions, and to listen to the 
world's discordant harmony, may well consider themselves for- 
tunate, if they have never felt the paralyzing influence of these 
things on their love of letters. 

It is then good for us to be here, — good for us thus to turn 
aside to commune with the days of our youth, and to shake 
hands with those associations which the memory of the past 
will always hold dear. Were it not for occasions like the pres- 
ent, we might forget the interest we have in the cause of 
learning, and devote ourselves exclusively to the world. But 
the recurrence of these reminds us of our obligations, calls us 
back to our duty, and makes us feel, that we have an alliance 
with society more strong than the feeble tenure by which we 
hold our lives, and that our influence may be felt in the genera- 
tions that are to come after us. Associating, as I do, such 
ideas with the occasion thit has called us together, I should 
consider it little less than sacrilege to attempt to amuse my au- 



\ 



dience with "the figure^BPffretSnc^r^o while awaWhe hour 
^in idle spe^nIation% g^|sq fey tteoij^. W ^hav»^ss.ui\gd to 
'myseir^Iiegraver task ol pointing out some of meJrracmal 'Er- 
7-^^h^i^^oit^yi^lect^^E^c^on. AnWJajel^vinDife-. 
mise, that I shall"' consider emiclmoTvTio* as confined to^he 
learning derived from books, or that communicated by set les- 
sons of instruction ; but as embracing all the means by which 
the mind is improved, its susceptibilities developed, or its views 
expanded ; and extending consequently from the early lessons 
gathered from parental precept and example, up to that mental 
discipline, which is implied in the term self-education. 

With this explanation, the first error to which I shall call 
your attention, is that which leads the scholar to too sudden a 
rush from truth to causes. It often happens, that truth is not 
remarkably difficult to be substantiated. Observation, even 
though careless, teaches us a thousand truths, — a thousand 
facts, which are fully established without any reference to their 
causes. And by consciousness, we become acquainted with an- 
other class of truths, connected with our mental operations. 
Well established truths, then, of various kinds, may exist, with- 
out ever leading the mind to the contemplation of their cause. 
Thus, for example, the savage knows well, that his arrow when 
hurled will return to the ground, though he may never have 
thought of the cause that draws it downward ; and the most 
unthinking rustic, too, is fully aware, that those things which 
interest his feelings most deeply are the things to which the 
memory adheres the most readily and the most strongly, with- 
out even thinking whether there be any cause for this, or not. 

But the intellect of man is an inquisitive principle. Truth 
will not long be before the intelligent mind, without leading to 
an inquiry for the cause ; nor is the mind patient of long delay 
in its researches. Hence the importance of caution and watch- 
ful care. For want of these, facts are often attempted to be 
accounted for on wrong principles, and false causes are assigned. 
This has come in as a fruitful source of error in every depart- 
ment of science ; and giant minds have been compelled to waste 
their strength in combating and doing away errors which have 



had such an origin. Even the leading truths connected with 
the philosophy of the mind, have but recently been traced to 
their true causes ; and many are the phenomena, witnessed both 
in the intellectual and natural, as well as in the moral world, the 
causes of which are still left for true philosophy to discover, 
notwithstanding the many hasty solutions already given. 

Not only are causes radically wrong often assigned to explain 
known truths ; but general laws, — which if deserving the name 
of causes at all, are only nominal, — > have often been assigned 
as the satisfactory causes of the things to be explained. Gravi- 
ty, electricity, magnetism, vitality, vegetation, etc., when refer- 
red to as ultimate causes of natural phenomena, are of this 
description. The mere pretender to learning is full of this kind 
of causes ; and the boasting pedant is the last one to say in re- 
lation to anything, however abstruse, that he does not know the 
cause. How different this from the spirit of true philosophy ! 
Hear the concession of Mr. Locke, that Hercules in mental 
science, — a concession which the half-educated would think 
too humiliating for himself to make. " He that knows any- 
thing," says he, " knows this in the first place, that he need 
not seek long for instances of his ignorance. The meanest and 
most obvious things that come in our way, have dark sides that 
the quickest sight cannot penetrate into. The clearest and most 
enlarged understandings of thinking men find themselves puz- 
zled and at a loss in every particle of matter." 

A leading cause of the error to which we have referred is 
found in that mental indolence, that refuses to search for re- 
mote causes, — that refuses to go back behind the scene, and 
to contemplate the hidden wires which in truth move the whole 
apparatus, but which are concealed by the curtain which inter- 
venes. It is not then an error of reason, but of indolence. It 
however puts into the hand of the designing a most dangerous 
weapon, and one- which he too often uses, to ruin the unwary 
and the young. Few mature intellects have ever been them- 
selves deceived by this kind of sophistry ; but many, how ma- 
ny ! have had to employ their powers in counteracting the in- 
fluence of early prejudices which have had such an origin ; and 



to exercise the philosophy peculiar to gifted souls, in rejecting 
and dashing from them errors which have come up from child- 
hood with them, growing with their growth and strengthening 
with their strength. 

To him, who in the pursuit of truth would be able clearly to 
trace facts to their true causes ; and thus avoid the errors which 
are everywhere found among the ignorant and the superficial, 
extensive knowledge is absolutely necessary. Nothing can sup- 
ply the place of this. But in addition, the power of patient 
investigation, and an honest love of the truth are needed. The 
fact that men of profound learning and extensive knowledge 
have long continued in error, abundantly proves that candor 
and patience are not less necessary to lead us into truth, than 
knowledge itself. 

Another power, to him who would be able to trace back facts 
to their true causes, is exceedingly important ; and that is, the 
power to suspend judgment. To this we are peculiarly reluct- 
anL Not only is there a feeling of impatience in the mind 
which prevents it, and a degree of mental indolence which it is 
not easy to overcome ; but with most mere superficial scholars 
there is a pride in exhibiting a readiness on all important ques- 
tions, which prevents them from the exercise of careful inquiry, 
till they have committed themselves ; and till they are thus dis- 
qualified to make truth the object of their research. Bacon, 
and Euler, and Locke, and Newton, and Reid, and Franklin, 
had the power of predicating their judgments on full and ma- 
ture reflection. Nor will he who would cultivate a philosophic 
mind, deviate much from the course they have marked out for 
him. The truth is, we often have to acknowledge our igno- 
rance. The causes of a thousand things are designedly hid 
from us, and of a thousand others are so remote, as to require 
time and care to search them out. 

Another popular error connected with education, is that use-» 
ful learning can be acquired without intellectual effort. This 
error is not often expressed in words, though in practice it has 
prevailed to a fearful extent. It is the counterpart of that 



which would deprive the student of the necessary aids to im- 
provement, that the whole might be the result of his unaided 
effort. Each of these systems has had its turn. While the lat- 
ter only delayed the student in his progress, and threw unne- 
cessary discouragements in his way ; the former has had a much 
more pernicious influence in lowering the standard of educa- 
tion, debilitating the mind, and thus disqualifying the individual 
for the more responsible and arduous duties of life. This prin- 
ciple has found its way into every department of learning from 
the infant school to the university, — from the ABC to the 
learned profession. 

For instance, go into the infant schools of our cities, and 
hear children, almost as soon as they can speak at all, taught to 
talk about rectangles, prisms and parallelograms, or about me- 
ridians and ecliptics ; or hear them chant the tables of arithme- 
tic, or repeat the unintelligible dogmas of the catechism ; as 
though the sublime truths of geometry, astronomy and theolo- 
gy, could be embraced by the infant mind, and mathematics 
and religion consisted in names alone. Sure one would think 
this must be the " royal road to learning." — Again, go into the 
primary schools of our country, and see there the rising youth 
conning the lessons of their grammars, or spelling-book ; or en- 
deavoring to cipher through their Arithmetics, by learning the 
rules and getting the answers to the sums. Here the process 
is as mechanical, as are the motions of the automaton ; nor 
does it differ from them more in any other particular, than in 
the want of correctness in its results. Instances of the same 
error are to be seen in those who would learn the application of 
mathematical principles, without first attending to the elements ; 
or who would become proficients in the natural sciences, with- 
out going abroad to look at nature as she is. — The error thus 
far seems to consist in not accurately distinguishing between 
names and ideas, and in substituting the exercise of memory 
for judgment and reason ; and the blame in these cases attach- 
es principally to teachers, who should never permit a pupil to 
enter upon or prosecute the investigation of any subject, which 
he is not fully prepared to understand. 



8 

A similar effect is produced on the minds of most of their 
students, by those institutions, which render effort unnecessary 
for obtaining their highest honors. And in this respect, no 
system is perhaps so faulty, as that of communicating instruc- 
tion by lectures. This does well in Lyceums, and on other oc- 
casions where the object is to illustrate by experiment, or to 
communicate general instruction on popular subjects ; but to 
give it the place it has in at least one class of institutions in out- 
country, is but to substitute the interesting for the useful, and 
to open another " royal road to learning." Even the profound 
mysteries of the law, which can be illustrated neither by dia- 
grams nor skeletons, are taught by lectures, and this method of 
instruction is introduced into many other schools. Judging from 
the immediate results, we might suppose some magical influence 
attached to this system ; for the process of making what they 
call educated or professional men goes on in these schools, with 
as much regularity at least, as any mechanical process ; and the 
regular graduation and bestowment of honors is much more 
uniform, than where personal effort is called into requisition, and 
personal excellence made the rigid test of success. 

One hour of close . application to the pages of Homer, or to 
the demonstrations of Euclid, is preferable to a dozen lectures ; 
and a thorough recitation to one deeply read in law or medi- 
cine, and well versed in its practice, will give more practical in- 
struction to a student in these departments, than any lecture 
which can be delivered. — Godman, whom, though a distin- 
guished anatomist, no profession can claim, but whose name 
remains as a legacy to the nation, and to the world, was not 
made in the lecture room. 

He built his own stature, made himself. 

He has himself given us his early history, in a letter to a 
friend. — " Before I was two years old, says he, I was mother- 
less ; — before I was five years old I was fatherless and friend- 
less. I have been deprived of property by fraud, that was mine 
by right. I have eaten the bread of misery, I have drunk the 
cup of sorrow. — I have passed the flower of my days in a state 
little better than slavery, and arrived at what ? Manhood, pov- 



9 

erty and desolation."* Such does he represent himself, when 
he commenced the study of medicine; 'and it is interesting to 
inquire, how he acquired, in his short life, the envied eminence 
to which he attained. 

One who knew him well, says, — " His eagerness in the pur- 
suit of knowledge seemed like the impulse of gnawing hunger, 
and an unquenchable thirst, which neither disease nor adversity 
could allay." " His ambition and thirst for knowledge," says 
another, " were such, that having commenced an investigation, 
or a language, no difficulty could stop him ; and what he had no 
time to accomplish in the day, he would do at night, instead of 
enjoying that rest of which he often stood in so much need."f 
It was thus by intense application and untiring industry, that 
he made himself what he was ; and his biography speaks vol- 
umes in favor of the omnipotence of these. No error can be 
more fatal, than that learning can be acquired without them ; 
unless it be that other error, which is nearly allied to it, that 
learning when acquired must be associated with ease and luxu- 
ry. Let him, who in the pursuit of science would get along 
without toil and effort, or him who having received the honors 
of an institution would contemplate his education as finished, 
and settle down in the enjoyment of ease and luxury, think of 
Godman ; and let such think, that the price he paid for his un- 
dying fame is that toil they affect to despise. And let them 
also remember one other fact, — that amidst all his multiplied 
pursuits, he found time to commence and carry through the 
most thorough investigation of the truth of the christian revela- 
tion, and in his later years to attend to the duties and cultivate 
the virtues connected with the religion of Christ. Yes, God- 
man was a christian. 

The error of which we have spoken, often seems to have its 
origin in an excessive feeling of haste, on the part of the learn- 
er, to complete his education. All the means that can be de- 
vised to facilitate the onward course are brought into requisi- 
tion ; and as far as possible the pleasing is substituted for the 

* Quoted from the N. A. Review, for Jan. 1835. Art. Memoir of Dr. Godman. 

f These extracts are quoted from Dr. Thomas Sewall's eulogy on Dr. Godman . 

2 



10 

Useful, and the showy for the more solid. Nor does the feeling 
of the young girl, who is eager for her three months at a board- 
ing school to close, that she may return home to be looked upon 
as a lady, differ from the feelings of the more advanced scholar, 
who eagerly looks forward to the time when his education shall 
be finished, -and he shall go out into the world a learned man. 
This feeling of haste is encouraged by the book-making com- 
munity ; and to such an extent have mechanical facilities been 
introduced into our systems of education, that we can with no 
small degree of propriety speak of the mechanical character of 
this our boasted age. And to such self-stiled improvements, 
the ignorance or the indifference of our teachers but too often 
gives a ready introduction ; and thus our schools and institu- 
tions of learning are becoming flooded with but poor substi- 
tutes for industry and common sense. 

The practice of reading without reflection may well be in- 
troduced under this head. " Nothing," says an extensive and 
accomplished writer,* " has such a tendency to weaken, not 
only the powers of invention, but the intellectual powers in 
genera], as this." Yet by how many is it practiced. Forget- 
ful of our maxim, that nothing valuable can be acquired with- 
out great effort, how many amuse themselves with the idea, that 
the time thus spent is usefully employed, at the same time that 
they read merely from indolence. Others read from a curiosi- 
ty to learn what an author says, without once inquiring whether 
what he says be true. By such reading nothing but the memo- 
ry is called into exercise ; the higher faculties of the mind fall 
into disuse, at the same time that the mind itself becomes un- 
settled in relation to every important sentiment or opinion. 
There are others still, who read in the same way, not so much 
from any personal curiosity, as for the want of moral courage. 
For, as has been well said, " It requires courage indeed to re- 
main ignorant of those useless subjects, which are generally val- 
ued."! How necessary, however, such a courage is, to him 
who either loves the truth, or is in pursuit of an enduring fame, 
I need not say. 

* Stewart. \ Helvetius, 



11 

Another popular error is, that all education should have for 
its basis practical utility ; by which is meant, that all the pur- 
suits of the scholar should have a direct reference to this princi- 
ple. Bringing the various objects of pursuit which call the at- 
tention of the scholar to this test, some reject from a course of 
study one thing and some another. And to such an extent has 
the principle been pushed, that scarcely a branch of learning 
remains, whether connected with science or literature, which 
has not been assailed by it. Some utterly reject all knowledge 
of the mathematics, except what is necessary to present those 
truths, which are of actual service in the practical business of 
life; and even these truths may be learned, say they, without 
attending to the tedious demonstrations by which they are es-? 
tablished. Thus the study of the exact sciences, is reduced to 
the simple process of committing to memory a few propositions 
which are susceptible of an application to the common concerns 
of life. 

All the objections which are raised against the study of the 
sciences on the ground of practical inutility are based on an 
entire forgetfulness of one of the leading objects of education, 
— that is mental discipline. This, with the acquisition of use- 
ful knowledge, constitutes the education ; and of the two must 
be considered far the most important. For with a mind well 
disciplined, — a mind trained to close and accurate thought, 
practical knowledge to any extent may be readily acquired ; but 
without this previous discipline, even knowledge itself, if pos- 
sessed, would be of little avail. But no truth can be considered 
better established, than that application constitutes the only ef- 
fectual discipline of the mind. For the purpose of mental dis- 
cipline, then, if for no other, the foundations of science should 
be laid permanent and deep in the human mind. 

Objections which rest on the same general principle are 
brought against the pursuit of the natural sciences ; and we 
often hear the inquiry in relation to the collection of the bota- 
nist and the zoologist, as well as the cabinet of the mineralo- 
gist, — ■' What are they all worth ?" And the mere pretender 
to learning often joins in the laugh, when the unproductive fol- 



12 

ly of the naturalist is the topic of conversation. Is it indeed, 
then, in vain, that God has spread out his works before us ? 
and is there no advantage derived from looking through nature 
up to nature's God ? Suffice it to say, that God has implanted 
in the mind thaf becomes cultivated, a love for the study of his 
works ; and has connected with this study a hidden charm, 
which he who feels, though he may pass a life of toil and go 
down to his grave in poverty, unhonored and unsung, envies 
not the idle man his ease, the miser his stores, or the statesman 
his honors. 

For their supposed practical inutility, almost every branch of 
polite learning also has been rejected from the list of useful 
study. In relation to Language, History, Rhetoric and a. few 
others, the question is settled ; and few now think of objecting 
to them on this account. But Poetry and Music are of a more 
doubtful character. In relation to these, however, permit me 
to say, that they are the first lessons which man has ever learn- 
ed from his Maker. Nature's children have always been poets, 
from the Hebrew of old, to the native inhabitant of your soil, — 
from the hyperborean snows of the Goths and Scythians, to the 
torrid zone, where wanders the African in his native glory. 
The praises of God have in all ages and in all climates gone 
up, associated with all that is inspiring in poetry and song; and 
many of the choicest portions of inspiration have been given in 
poetic numbers. 

Painting and sculpture are but sister arts ; and those only 
who have had the pleasure of looking on the masterpieces of 
the first artists, are prepared to judge with any degree of 
correctness on the subject. — If asked, in general terms, why I 
would have a taste for the fine arts cultivated, my answer should 
be, — because we are so constituted by our Creator that these 
become to us sources of happiness. And it yet remains to be 
proved, that the pleasure derived from this source is less pure, 
than that which the man of the world derives from his indus- 
try, his titles, or his gold. 

An error, the opposite of that to which we have alluded, has 
an existence at least in practice ; and the principle of utility 



13 

has been lost sight of in some of our systems of education. 
This also has been pushed to strange extremes. On the one 
hand, mental discipline, without any regard to its practical ap- 
plication, has been consulted ; and on the other, all reference 
to this has been lost, and external accomplishments have receiv- 
ed the whole attention. In regard to its former application, I 
may be permitted to add to what I have already said on the 
subject, that there should be a proper blending of mental disci- 
pline with the acquisition of useful knowledge. The amount 
of attention, therefore, given to the abstruse sciences, should de- 
pend on the extent to which the education is to be carried. 
Thus the study of the Calculus, or even of Geometry, would 
not be thought as important to him who is simply preparing 
himself for a farm, as would be that of chemical and mechani- 
cal Philosophy, and some of the other branches of natural sci- 
ence. In a limited course of study, then, the principal depen- 
dence for disciplining the mind, must be on the effort necessa- 
ry to the acquisition of useful knowledge. In a full and com- 
plete course, however, the abstract sciences properly claim a 
high share of attention ; nor should any one, who would ac- 
quire the power or habit of close consecutive thinking, think 
lightly of such a course. 

In regard to the latter application of this erroneous principle, 
which attaches too much importance to mere external accom- 
plishments, and in their glitter loses sight of the principle of 
utility, I may say, it has been principally confined to female ed- 
ucation. Happily for the rising race however, there are becom- 
ing more and more Cornelias in our country, — more and more, 
who consider their children as their jewels ; and who prefer, 
that their daughters should compare with the diamond of the 
mine, rather than with the lilly of the valley. But how many 
have we seen, — accomplished young ladies to be sure, — of 
whom it might be said, that a genteel form, a graceful move- 
ment, and a store of romantic lore, accompanied perchance 
with a smattering of music and French, constitute the whole of 
their education. Yet perhaps years had been given to its ac- 
quisition. The object of female education, in these cases seems 
to be lost sight of. The young lady is not always to remain 



14 

that fantastic being she is at sixteen. Her education should be 
such as to fit her for other scenes, — when she shall become, 
what indeed she should always be, the companion instead of the 
idol of her friends. In many cases education has accomplished 
this object; and not a few are found, who, when addressed as 
the mere creatures of feeling, — the proper subjects of flattery, 
and as unable to enjoy even an intellectual repast, know well 
how to appreciate such a complement to their intelligence. 

Yet all is not as it should be. The standard of female edu- 
cation is not raised sufficiently high. How many there are yet, 
whose highest object is to acquire some of the more graceful 
accomplishments ; and who value some trifling work of taste, 
or skill in the fine arts, higher than the literary gem, or a much 
more valuable treasure drawn from the mines of science. The 
object of a knowledge of the fine arts, or the lighter literature, 
is to add a polish to a more thorough intellectual education ; 
and should be attended to, only to sweeten the toils connected 
with the acquisition of solid learning, or to give a healthful acu'te- 
ness to the imagination and a perfection to the sentient powers, 
which the pursuit of the sciences had failed to yield. At the 
same time, then, that the principle of utility, as it has been de- 
fined, should not predominate, so as to swallow up everything 
else, neither should it be lost sight of, in any system of educa- 
tion, or department of learning. 

Another grand practical error connected with education, very 
different in its nature from those I have noticed, arises from the 
supposition, that the mind is divided in its action into separate 
powers. Thus we often hear philosophy contrasted with feel- 
ing ; and taste and imagination with judgment ; and (to repre- 
sent the subject more clearly) we have seen the will set in ar- 
ray with the passions, as if they sustained to each other only a 
relation like tribes or clans inhabiting the same district ; and 
have had it presented to us, as one power of the mind engaged 
in a conflict with the other powers, and liable to have its acts 
even annulled by them. Thus the volitions are represented as 
the acts of but a part of the mind, instead of being, as they 



15 

are, the acts of the whole mind, in the exercise of that suscepti- 
bility, by which is exhibited the result of its own deliberations. 
Passing, however, this last erroneous application of the princi- 
ple, which is here introduced only for illustration, — the powers 
or faculties of the mind are often spoken of, not only as distinct 
and capable of independent action ; but their acts are repre- 
sented as incongruous the one with the other, so that the ability to 
perform one class of mental operations is made to preclude the 
power of performing others. This is the point we shall first 
examine. Here is opened a broad field of discussion ; and 
I have only to regret, that I must delay but a few moments, 
where I might linger an hour. — By way of introduction, let me 
inquire, where are found the power of philosophical research, 
and the deep-toned emotion, — the accurate taste, and the 
powerful judgment ? — where, but in the mind? And what is 
the mind, but one undivided intelligence ? I think it not diffi- 
cult to be made to appear, that every mental act, of whatever 
character, is an act of the whole mind. If so, however great be 
the difference in the strength of different minds, the inference 
is strong, that that mind which is powerful to feel, is powerful 
to reason ; and that the vigorous and well regulated imagination 
is never unassociated with the strong judgment. 

In the examination of this subject however, we will be par- 
ticular. In common parlance, as we have suggested, strong 
thought is supposed to be inconsistent with deep feeling ; and, 
on the contrary, a want of feeling is dignified by the name of 
philosophy. Judging from the frequency of such admissions, 
we might almost be led to consider it a moral axiom. It has 
been strongly expressed by one of our statesmen,* where he 
says, " A true philosopher is superior to humanity ; he could 
walk at ease over this earth, if it wete unpeopled; he could 
tread with all the pleasure of curiosity, on its cinders, the day 
after the final conflagration." With this sentiment, the hy- 
pothesis I have just advanced is altogether at variance. I can 
indeed have an idea, that the conceit of the poetf might be re- 
alized ; — that the last of our race, wrapt about with the sub- 

* Ames' Essays — Equality, No. 1. t Campbell. 



16 

limity of emotion, and lost in the consciousness of his own dig- 
nity and of his alliance with the Supreme, might tread on the 
fragments of the ruined world, and, as his eye caught the last 
lingering ray of the extinguished sun, 

The dark'ning universe defy 
TcTquench hisjmmortality, 
Or shake his trust in God. 

But I cannot conceive, that it is the part of true philosophy to 
look upon human woe without emotion, to tread unmoved upon 
the ruins of time, or to gaze, as a disinterested spectator, upon 
the operation of anything which concerns the welfare of our 
race. 

But; to take a philosophical view of this subject, what is feel- 
ing ? — What, but an emotion arising from the perception of 
some object, or truth ; and consequently, associated with some 
thought, or idea? If it be thus, then intense feeling, so far 
from being opposed to thinking, is but another name for intense 
thought ; and that mind alone, is powerful to feel, which is pow- 
erful to think, — powerful to reason. And if it indeed be thus, 
it is interesting to inquire, how a sentiment the opposite of this 
came to be so generally diffused. The argument briefly stated, 
is this. — The philosopher, — he who really deserves the appel- 
lation, — is seen to pursue whatever he purposes in his heart, 
with an inflexibility and decision, which seem much more like 
the result of cool reason than of passion. Whatever con- 
science or reason dictates, he never shrinks from, whatever in- 
ducements indolence or passion suggest to turn him from his 
purpose. The warrior too, it is said, mingles in the strife of 
confjicting armies, issues his orders and sustains his broken 
troops, surrounded by the dead and the dying, with a coolness 
utterly incompatible with the exercise of the tender emotions. 
Again, we are referred to the orator, who with " quiet dignity 
and unruffled self-possession," can sway at pleasure the feelings 
and judgment of his audience, bring into violent conflict all the 
excitable ingredients of human nature, 

With terror now can pierce the cowering blood, 
And now dissolve the heart in tenderness ; 

and who, meantime, looks apparently unmoved, 

On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet. 



17 

And the inference from these premises is, that these men do 
not feel as intensely, as do inferior minds. 

This inference is erroneous. Matter of fact proves that these 
men have passions capable of being roused to tremendous ac- 
tion. They differ from other men simply in this, that their pas- 
sions are under the control of their wills. The joyous Eureka 
of Archimides, the trembling frame of Newton, as he came near 
to the conclusion of those calculations, which gave laws to the 
universe, and the swooning of Rittenhouse, when his prediction 
was realized, and he was gazing at a phenomenon,*- which no 
eye should again see, till other generations should people the 
earth, — demonstrate, that these men could feel as well as rea- 
son. Washington, on parting with his compatriots at the close 
of the Revolution, gave silent, but affecting and impressive evi- 
dence, of the deepest emotion ; and Napoleon, — even Napole- 
on ! could be agitated to trembling, on hearing the piteous 
moans of a dog, that lay by the side of his master on the de- 
serted battle-field. That orator, too, who stands in all the dig- 
nity of self-collection, — if it but subserve his purpose, can throw 
off the restraint from his passions ; when at once his voice, his 
action, the flashes of his eye, the vitality he gives to every ex- 
pression of sentiment — all becdme indices of the raging of 
that tempest which has till then been confined within. It re- 
mains to be shown, that such feel less strongly, than did Ho- 
mer, when he described the tears of Andromache ; or than Vir- 
gil, when he sung the fate of Nisus and Eurialus ; or that any 
of these did not feel more strongly, than can the common vul- 
gar mind. 

This error has led thousands to cultivate a stoical turn of 
mind, — an apathy and indifference to human weal and human 
woe, which has proved ruinous to the finer feelings of their na- 
ture, destroyed the delicate texture of the soul, cut them loose 
from the sympathies of life, and blighted those nice sensibilities, 
without which society is but a name, and intercourse with the 
world but loneliness and solitude. If the views I have advo- 
cated be correct, then it follows, that that philosophy which 

* The transit of Venus, which occurred in 1769. 

3 



18 

forbids deep feeling, must at the same time remove from its 
possessor the power of deep thought, or at least the propensity, 
to indulge in it. Or if deep thought be allowed at all, it must 
be confined to such subjects as have no tendency to make him 
either a happier, or a better, man. 

We also hear it said, that there is an incongruity between 
the imagination and the judgment, at least, that they are dis- 
tinct and opposite attributes of the mind. If I do not misun- 
derstand the reason, which is so often given for the careless 
perusal of _ fictitious writings, it is based on this sentiment. For 
those who resort to this source, for the avowed purpose of cul- 
tivating the imagination, are the last to peruse them in a way 
to improve the judgment. But does this incongruity actually 
exist ? In answering this question, it is important to remark, 
that imagination and fancy are not synonymous terms ; the lat- 
ter representing the faculty by which the mind forms its con- 
ceptions, and the former, the power of combining and modify- 
ing these conceptions at pleasure. Milton speaks of the crea- 
tions of the fancy, as 

Airy shapes, 
Which reason joining or disjoining, frames 
All what we affirm or what deny, and call 
Our knowledge, or opinion ; — 

Nor is this the theory of the poet only. Now of what use are 
these " airy shapes," till joined and arranged by the reason? 
Yet these are the very things, with which the minds of thou- 
sands of young females are filled, which give them only a mor- 
bid sensibility to every circumstance of excitement, whether 
real or imaginary, and which are the legitimate offspring of the 
careless perusal of novels and works of taste. 

When these " airy shapes" which fancy presents to the mind, 
are combined and arranged into harmonious pictures by the im- 
agination, then, and not till then, they become useful. But 
how can this harmonious arrangement be made, without an ex- 
ercise of the judgment ? If this view be correct, it follows that 
the imagination implies an exercise of the judgment ; and that 
taste cannot be exercised without it. This is in accordance 



19 

with the sentiment of a recent writer on Rhetoric,* when he 
defines taste as {: a judgment of what is fitted to excite emo- 
tions of beauty, grandeur and sublimity, founded on the expe- 
rience of past emotions." 

The inference I shall draw from this view of the subject is, 
that the cultivation of the imagination without an exercise of the 
judgment involves an absurdity, and cannot take place. The im- 
agination and judgment, instead of being at war with each other, 
are mutually necessary to each other's strength and perfection. 
A fine imagination cannot exist without a correct judgment ; and 
in relation to the judgment, it scarcely need be said, that with- 
out imagination to aid in the combination of thought, it could be 
applied to no extensive object of utility. Their cultivation, 
then, must go hand in hand ; and when one of them is neglect- 
ed, they are both neglected. A luxuriant fancy, it is true, may 
exist without judgment ; but then it exists also without imagin- 
ation, and is a thousand fold worse than the possession of neith- 
er. To the poet or the painter, judgment and imagination are 
not less necessary than fancy itself; and are as necessary to 
them, as to the philosopher, the architect or the statesman. As 
a final inference from the whole subject. I conclude, that the 
imagination, like the other treasures of the mind, is the price 
of toil. He who would drink at Castalia's sacred fount, must 
first labor up the rugged steep of Parnassus. 

On the general subject of dividing the mind into faculties, I 
would not longer dwell ; but that the strange error has grown 
out of this, of exempting certain faculties from the necessity of 
study. We hear men talk of a genius for poetry, for mathe- 
matics, for painting, for extemporaneous speaking, for the lan- 
guages, and in fact, for almost every thing ; and all this is well 
enough, if the phraseology be rightly understood. If by genius 
is meant simply a natural aptitude or power of acquiring talents 
of a particular kind, we will not object to it. For we do not 
believe all men to possess originally the same constitution and 
powers of mind ; nor that the most fixed application can sup- 

* Professor Newman of Bowdoin College. 






20 

ply all the native defects of the mind. But by original genius, 
is often meant something more than this. Poeta nascitur nonjit, 
has long since passed into a proverb, with a broader signification 
than this exposition would give to it. And a recent writer in a 
foreign Review* says — "Genius is heaven-born and fortuitous, 
and depends comparatively little upon culture." This is pre- 
cisely the sentiment I am about to oppose ; for the circumstance, 
that what is here called genius depends at all on culture, proves 
that the writer means something more than a natural aptitude to 
learn. — But if it mean anything more than this, then it de- 
pends essentially and primarily on culture. Otherwise, genius 
is a mere imaginary thing. It may exist, any length of time, 
without culture, without application, without exercise. Thus 
he who passes for the veriest blockhead, may be the greatest 
genius ; and all that is necessary for a display of this imaginary 
power, is the recurrence of some appropriate circumstance to 
call it into action. This notion, how gratifying to many a fond 
parent ; while he can compliment his son, and flatter his own 
vanity, by saying, that " the boy has a great natural genius," at 
the same time that he says, " he never could be made to apply 
himself to study." Than this, no error could be more fatal to 
the growth of the youthful mind. 

Genius, if it means anything, means the power and the dis- 
position to study. Genius will study ; it is the very nature of 
it to study ; and where there is no love of study there is no ge- 
nius. This is the ground I take ; — that no natural gift can 
supply the place of hard study. In relation to taste and imagi- 
nation, it would seem that enough had been already said. Their 
exercise implies an exercise of the understanding, — and such 
an understanding, as can be acquired only by the most careful 
examination of every thing to which it relates. Yet to hear 
some talk, we should think Homer's an undisciplined mind. Of 
Shakespeare we have indeed been told by a modern Reviewer, 
that " after having written his thirty-eight plays, he went care- 
lessly down to the country, and lived out his days apparently 
unconscious of having done anything at all extraordinary." As 

* Foreign Quarterly Review, for July, 1834. — Ait. Madame de Stael. 



21 

though some magic charm, some enchanting spell, like the gift 
of prophecy, rested down upon him for a time, and then left 
him, like the nazarite of old, weak and like another man. The 
immortal productions of West's pencil, we are taught to con- 
sider as the work of some fairy hand. And we have learn- 
ed to look upon Henry, in the midst of his mighty efforts, 
with scarcely less reverence, than though the direct inspiration 
of Heaven had been visibly upon him. 

These are strongly marked cases ; and are often quoted, as 
examples of the development of genius without previous disci- 
pline. And the reason that there are any cases like these, is, 
that study is not always formal, but simply a concentration of 
the mind upon its object, whatever it may be. It consists not 
alone in midnight vigils, not alone in poring over books, nor in 
putting on an air of thoughtfulness ; witness this same Henry ^ 
What means it, when he is seen hour after hour, apparently 
watching his motionless fish-line ; nor heeding the approach of 
footsteps, or the shades of night. To me, that gives evidence 
of intense study, — all absorbing, abstracted thought. His was 
a genius that studied every where ; and this a bliss not unlike 
that, 

The lonely bard enjoyed, when forth he walked 

Unpurposed ; stood, and knew not why ; sat down, 

And knew not where ; arose, and knew not when ; 

Had eyes, and saw not ; ears, and nothing heard ; 

And sought — sought neither heaven nor earth — sought nought, 

Nor meant to think ; but ran meantime, through vast 

Of visionary things, fairer than ought 

That was ; and saw the distant tops of thoughts, 

Which men of common stature never saw. — 

He entered into Nature's holy place, 

And heard unutterable things ; — 

things then indeed unutterable ; but afterwards uttered boldly 
forth, before multitudes of assembled men. 

Not unlike this, must have been the history of Homer, of 
Shakspeare, and a thousand more. That a particular bent of 
mind, or aptitude for a particular study or employment often ex- 
hibits itself in early life, I do not of course deny. On the con- 
trary, I admit that this was the case with Euler, with Newton, 



22 

with West, with Fulton, and a host of others who have become 
eminent in the world : and only assert that this is all that should 
be embraced in the word genius, when used in the connection of 
which we are speaking. And if this be what is properly called 
genius, permit me to inquire, how it exhibited itself in these ca- 
ses, how it could have exhibited itself, or how such a power can 
exhibit itself in any future case, but in a love of study, and in 
the power of attention to its object ? If these had been want- 
ing, what would have remained? — When we refer to the at- 
tainments of these men, — to any talents or skill which they 
possessed, these were with them, as they are in all other cases, 
the purchase of labor and toil. Indeed I should want no bet- 
ter comment than these furnish on the text, that genius is ap- 
plication. And could we become familiar with the history of 
the world's master spirits in general, and see, from infancy to 
the active scenes of life, the hidden workings of those gifted 
souls, the result would be the same. Could we see the poet's 
twilight abstraction and the painter's deep and unwearied study 
of the models of excellence in nature and in art, — could we 
see the orator's midnight musings, and feel his soul-thrilling in- 
terest, his overwhelming pressure of emotion, and his intense 
thought ; w r e should no longer think of genius, in connection 
with them, as consisting in ought but powerful feeling, strong 
and vivid perception, and a clear and discriminating intellect. 
And even though it should break forth sudden, like lightning 
from the cloud, we should only think, that, like the etherial fire, 
it had been collecting its power, long ere it flashed out before 
the admiring gaze of men. Excellence, then, without effort, in 
any department of the arts or sciences, is but a school-boy's 
dream ; worthy of him only who would become a learned man 
by reading novels and the Reviews ; or who would master the 
sciences, at the same time that he is indulging in all the pleas- 
ures and refinements of social life. 

The last error I shall notice, attaches itself particularly to 
those who are commencing their education ; and this class of 
course embraces all who are pursuing their studies at our col- 






23 

leges and seminaries of learning. It seems to be baseM on the 
forgetfulness of the high and ennobling motives, which should 
ever be before the American scholar. Some of these motives 
are, — the love of usefulness; the opportunities offered in our 
country for honorable distinction ; and a sense of obligation to 
one's friends, to his country, and to his God. In the influence 
of these may be found the magic of the success of our self- 
made men ; and it is here precisely that their great strength 
lies. Nothing but high considerations like these, could carry 
them through all the various discouragements they have to 
meet; but with these in view, nothing has power to prevent the 
accomplishment of their purposes. By losing sight of these 
high and holy motives, how many a scholar has passed his years 
of improvement in indolence ; relying perchance on the influ- 
ence, or the wealth of his friends, to carry him through the world. 
How many others have sacrificed their literary rank, to the com- 
paratively worthless pleasures of society. How many others 
still, like him of old, who sold his birthright for a mess of pot- 
tage, have exchanged all that is valuable in a literary reputation, 
for the pleasures of the cup, and the luxuries of the table. 
How many more, have lost sight of the permanent and rich en- 
dowments of the mind, in the glitter of present popularity, and 
in pursuit of the objects of a vain ambition. And oh ! how 
many, even of those who have enriched their intellects by the 
highest culture, have permitted their moral natures to lie waste 
and desolate ; and have prostituted their talents to the subver- 
sion of human happiness ! Not so with him, who is looking for 
the reward of his toil, either to the rewards of virtue, or to that 
estimate which the world shall set on his talents or his labors. 

In conclusion, permit me to say to the young gentlemen pres- 
ent; — You are at liberty to appropriate these last remarks par- 
ticularly to yourselves. Look not too much at the immediate 
rewards of your desert. Think not too much of the present 
distinction which any course of conduct can purchase for you. 
And when tempted to turn aside from the great work in which 
you are engaged, to indulge in the pleasures and in the dissipat- 
ing amusements of society, think of the future. There are 






24 

fields of lionor in our country to be reaped ; — there are sta- 
tions of usefulness to be filled. With yourselves it chiefly rests 
to say, whether you will become the pride of your families, go 
up to stations of honor and usefulness, and be remembered with 
gratitude by those who come after you ; or whether you will be- 
come " the hewers of wood, and drawers of water," to those 
who shall be more deserving than yourselves. In a word, re- 
member that the world is your theatre, and public life the stage 
on which you are destined to act ; and that that fame, which is 
associated with unyielding virtue and sterling integrity, and 
which is bought by a generous self-devotion to the public good, 
is the only renown which shall cheer the decline of life, or 
which shall be rewarded by the love and veneration of after 
ages. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




